


one glance and the avalanche drops

by Wankerville



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and, and harry delivers him his christmas tree, and he truck doesnt start up, and then harry turns into some domestic piece of shit, anyway, fucking tree whisperers mate, louis is a university boy, sap, there's like, this is literally just, three sentences of smut at the end lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wankerville/pseuds/Wankerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's strange, honestly, having someone so gorgeous in his kitchen, and not only physically gorgeous, but, like, the everything <em>else</em> gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that Louis wants his life to always be covered in. The type of gorgeous he wants lying in sweatpants and an old t-shirt on his couch when he gets home from class. The type of gorgeous he wants to have shoving crisps down the front of his shirt. The type of goddamn gorgeous he wants to kiss, and coddle, and like, <em>love</em>.</p><p>Which is ridiculous- he doesn't <em>know</em> him. <em>Pfft</em>.</p><p>(or an au wherein louis buys a christmas tree and harry is the boy in leggings who delivers it. they are a christmas classic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	one glance and the avalanche drops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovefern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefern/gifts).



> this fanfic is dedicated to [her](http://caffeinekink.tumblr.com/) !!! she is 1.) super rad, 2.) super lovely, 3.) the person who sent me the prompt for this fic so credit for the idea is original to her !! i really, _really_ hope i did your fic idea the justice it deserves. thank u so much for letting me write it bc i had so much fun doing so! i just hope you like it, love! :))
> 
> 1\. i italicize way too sodding much but dont question it.  
> 2\. i make up words, get ovER uRSELF  
> 3\. if only this is something that could realistically happen to all of us.

**(i)**

_can’t wait for the party friday. what shld i bring?_

Louis groans. _Loud_.

It’s 11:30 on a 'lovely' Tuesday morning. College is irrelevant for all of Christmas break, shoved deep into the back of Louis' mind in oath to never cross his pretty, little mind so it does not ruin his absolutely _beaming_ holiday spirit. _Veritably_ , everything has been crammed to the back of his mind, entirely immaterial to his new life of only mince pies, plum pudding, and glorious, _glorious_ crackers. The fact that the boys, against his own _knowledge_ , planned their annual Christmas party at _his_ flat, really messes up the whole 'everything in the world is beside the point to me except for me, myself, and i' thing.

Naturally, the only Christmas spirit around his flat is the wrappers of his cracker bon-bons that are indisputably laying all around the living room, along with all the crowns that come inside of them, scrunched up or torn and scattered about, _not_ including the pink one that is perched on his head at this very moment. However, it will very much make its way to the floor as soon as he begins to open his next Christmas cracker in his very, _very_  'cheerful,' holiday mood.

Louis plucks his phone up from the coffee table, and replies to Zayn’s earlier text message:

_christmas spirit._

After moping for another ten minutes over the inevitable, he finally brings himself to pull out a phone book (it’s mobile, but he likes to sound classy) and he clicks on the first local Christmas tree company he finds, ringing the place up. He rolls his eyes at the overly cheery woman who answers the phone.

“Hello, there! This is Carol’s Tree Farm, how can I help you?”

“Uh,” he mumbles plainly, “I need a tree.”

The woman snorts through the phone line, “Of course, dear. What kind?”

“What do you mean what _kind_ ,” he questions incredulously, “I just need a tree. Like y’know, green, Christmassy, _cheap_.”

“Oh dear,” the woman murmurs with a humoured smile, “we’ll get on that _very_ specific tree right away. Delivery or pick-up?"

“Delivery would be ace.”

“Ah,” she pauses, and a muffled noise that suspiciously sounds like she’s covering the phone with her hand rings through the line. Then she’s back, “alright, hun. We can get it there in about an hour, possibly longer. Only got three deliverers out today.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Sounds great.”

So after a another spoon-full of disgusting holiday spirit from the lady, and finally spitting out his address to her, he hangs up.

Louis pulls Zayn’s number up again, and texts him, telling him to bring enough crackers for him to be king an entire year.

Zayn never replies.

 

**(ii)**

 

He is dragging a suspiciously heavy box apparently full of Christmas decorations out of the storage closet when he hears the buzzer go off. He groans, _again_ , and hastily pulls the tree base from the box, tossing it to the corner of his living room where he plans on putting the ridiculous fucking tree. He clicks the little red button by his door with a huff, asking ever so benignly, "who's _there_?"

"Uh," and he is shocked by the deep yet very fluttery voice that floats through the small speaker, "I'm here with the Christmas tree? For," there's a short pause, "Louis Tomlinson?"

Louis bites back an all but innocent groan when he hears the attractive voice say his name- it's been awhile, he admits it- and he quickly fumbles to slip his shoes on. "Be right out!"

Swiftly running down the short staircase, he runs his fingers through his fringe to fix it up, ripping the paper crown that is still placed there from his head and stuffing it into one of his sweats pockets. He unlocks the bottom door to the outside world, and he finds himself being met with a winter wind and the prettiest boy he has ever seen, a tall Christmas tree beside said prettiest person.

“Hi,” the deep voice rasps again, except this time Louis gets to watch his lips form the words. He also gets to see two holes pop into his cheeks as he smiles warmly, a sweet synonym to a cup of fresh cocoa by the fire, steered with a peppermint stick.

Louis finds himself blushing, though he will blame it on the sudden nipping air of Mrs. Winter, looking the boy over as he breathes a small “ _Hi,_ ” back.

The boy is pretty, is the thing. _So_ pretty, with this curly mop of too big hair and craters in his cheeks; gorgeous like a Sunday morning, sunlight filtering in through the portiere at 7:30 a.m., creating his soft silhouette on the wall in blooming colours. His lips- a bright, cherry red that matches the Santa hat that is perched on top of his head, his too big curls, brown and poking out in mismatched directions.

He is adorned in this way too big ski sweater, baggy shoulders and armpits, tight around his wrists, though, so the baggy fabric bumps over the knitted, little cuffs. It’s black, white, and a dark, Christmas red, all abstract pattern with little snowflakes stitched into the odd motif (a little name tag, Harry written over it, pinned over his chest.) Then his legs, his goddamn _legs_ , wrapped in knitted, black leggings, hugging his gorgeous, little thighs, thick but small, all the way right down to the tattered brown boots that cover his ankles and the bottom of the sinful fabric that indecently covers the pretty boys lower half.

Louis stops looking at his pretty thighs to look back up to his face, choking on a breath, because the boy has these too big eyes as well, all pretty green like winter pines, the little snowflakes stuck in his too long eyelashes like snow on tree bristles.

"Beautiful," Louis murmurs, meeting the boy's eyes, which directly makes the boy blush. Louis' eyes widen, and he shakes his head, " _the tree!_ " he adds quickly, "the tree is beautiful- I mean."

Harry blinks at him with his own wide eyes, small smile covering his lips. "Is quite pretty, huh? I pick only the best."

Louis grins in relief, "Clearly."

Harry rolls his eyes sweetly, “ _Anyway_ ,” he drags out with this fucking _giggle_ , “this tree, here- it’s a Scotch Pine.”

Louis nods.

"Is that okay?" Harry asks slowly, eyebrows furrowed, "Carol never- she didn't give any specific orders."

"Yeah," Louis laughs hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck, "I didn't know there were actual types of Christmas trees," he shrugs with a lopsided smile, "to be fair, don't know much about trees in general."

Harry tuts, shaking his head in a ' _that just won't do_ ' manner, "Well then," he starts, smile growing on his pretty lips, “these guys' needles are usually only about an inch long, and they're always a really bright green, as you can see, so it’s a Christmas tree to really liven the room up, y’know? I remember when I got to choose the Christmas tree when I was 12, immediately chose this one. It’s just so lively, yeah?”

Louis thinks of mentioning the boys eye colour, how they’re so much more green and pretty and how he has already written 23 sonnets about them and the golden flecks that are mottled in with the serene colour. They could inevitably rouse not only a room, but a city, a country- perchance, the entire world.

**(iii)**

Harry carries the tree up the stairs with no help from Louis, not even a flush of sweat sheeting his cheeks. It isn't that Louis doesn't offer to help, because he does, but Harry just shrugs him off with a blush and an eye roll, shocking Louis with the way his thighs flex under the thin, black fabric. His breath comes out in light, little pants once they reach the top, and it has Louis fumbling to spin the doorknob. 

He opens the door for his pretty tree deliverer, then turns back. It is written plain as day that Harry is measuring the distance of the doorway with his eyes, and something about that makes Louis' tummy do flips. He doesn't question that, though, instead he laughs, lightly, meeting Harry's eyes.

"How about I take the end and pull it inside, yeah?" he offers.

"That would be best, yeah," Harry agrees with a lazy grin. He lays the tree down best he can, which culminates the tree leaning against the wall of the hallway at an angle in the cramped stairway, letting the small trunk of the tree fall into Louis' doorway for him to take hold of.

"I'll push a bit," Harry says, glancing up and smiling at Louis as Louis bends down and takes hold of the barked base.

"Alright," Louis murmurs back, tapping his finger against the small trunk before pulling it a bit. The tree slides in some, albeit roughly, and Harry gives a small push to help get more of the hassle inside. Louis takes another step back, stoutly pulling until he feels a small pinch on one of his middle fingers, " _Fuck_."

Harry looks up abruptly, eyebrows creased in thick worry, "Are you alright?"

Louis solely shakes his head, "Yeah, just a- just a bloody sliver," Louis winces a pout, "I probably got a needle 'round here somewhere."

Harry steps over the last bit of tree that's in the doorway, into Louis' flat before Louis has even finished speaking. "Here let me-" he wraps one of his hands around Louis' wrist, his other hand cupping the underside of Louis' hand as he inspects the little sliver torn into the first layer of skin. Without a warning, Harry is wrapping his pretty lips around his finger- making him choke on an inhale- his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on the finger for a few moments, tongue swirling around the wound.

His eyes meet Harry's momentarily, and he sucks in a deep breath, watching Harry retract his mouth, a thick string of saliva following.

Harry sticks his own finger and thumb into his mouth, then runs them against his leggings. "Got it!" he smiles proudly, "Feel better now, yeah? Doesn't hurt anymore?"

Louis swallows the thick lump that has formed in his throat, nodding slowly as he looks over his finger. "Um- yeah. Thanks."

"No problem, get'em all the time, so I'm a bit of a prima donna when it comes to getting 'em out," Harry winks playfully. 

In Louis' translation, Harry sucks on his fingers a lot. Reading between the lines, Harry knows how to suck.

Harry turns back to the tree with a pleased smile, and easily pulls the last bit of it in that was still left out, then stands it back up. "I'm assuming you want it over there, where the base is, yeah?"

"Oh- yeah, thanks. That'll work."

He still feels quite breathless, because it really has been a long time- and it has never been that Louis has met such a hipster-apt boy in leggings and a Santa hat, so.

Harry carries the tree to the favoured area of the room, gently slotting it into the base that will hold it up. He stands back, places his hands on his hips, and scans over his work. He quickly decides to move it around a bit, spinning it so a different side of the tree is showing, and then pushing it back into the corner some, repeating the same action of looking it over.

"That work for you, Lou?" he finally asks, looking over his shoulder.

"Perfect," Louis smiles gratefully, sighing deeply at the small vision of Harry giving him that look after the tree is decorated, maybe a fireplace could be to the left a little, and possibly they could be in deep, red robes. He shakes his head, "S'pose you want money now, yeah?"

"35 an' you'll never see me again."

Louis swallows his ' _well what if i do want to see you again?_ ', and he pulls his wallet from the pocket he tucked it into after calling the tree farm. "Here ya go," he says, handing the cash over, which Harry takes with a thankful grin and tucks into the folds of his Santa hat without even looking to see if he gave him the correct amount.

Louis walks Harry to the door, throat dry as Harry turns and stares at him.

"You better- it's snowing pretty hard," he murmurs.

"Yeah," Harry smiles gently, "hope you enjoy your tree, Lou."

"Thanks, Harry," Louis says softly, shutting the door with a wave, "have a good Christmas."

 

**(iv)**

 

Louis' looking out the window at a pouting, curly-haired boy. The hood of his white- _sprinkled in mud_ \- truck is up, and the snow is drifting down faster and harder. It’s white wind, blurry outside like his thoughts, and he is just about to run out to him with a blanket and a thermos of hot tea, when he finally sees Harry’s lanky figure running toward the building. He holds his breath, waiting, waiting.

The buzzer goes off.

Louis quickly pads over to the button pad, hitting the speak button, “'ello?”

“Hi, uh, it’s Harry?”

Louis doesn’t even wait for another word to flow through the boys pretty lips to buzz him up.

He has the door open as soon as the boy is up the stairs, pouting at the snowflakes that are stuck to the split-ends his hair, and lashes, and pretty, pretty face. Harry smiles thankfully, despite this, stepping back into Louis’ flat with a soft huff. He slips his snow covered boots off by the door, and straightens them up so they look neat. He also straightens Louis' up, out of habit really, and Louis tries not to let it make his heart squeeze.

“My, uh, truck-” Harry sneezes, making a small squeak of a noise, nose scrunching up, “S’old, so when it gets too cold out it-” he sneezes again, giggling afterwords at himself.

“Le’me get you a tissue,” Louis says, teeth digging into the side of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too fondly, quickly walking to the kitchen and grabbing his tissue box.

“Thank you _so_ much,” Harry says, “I called my boss and she said to just take the day off. If you don’t min-”

“You can stay here, yeah.” Louis answers softly, feeling a bit giddy as he does so, and Harry laughs.

“I was just gonna ask if I could use your phone book,” Louis blushes, “but, I mean, that’s good- I only really have the money you just gave me so I can’t really get like, a taxi, anyway,” he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, stupid grin, "not sure if the taxis are even running, actually."

Louis bites the inside of his cheek again, blinking. “Yeah, well. I really don’t mind,” he says whilst Harry blows his nose. Louis points to a trashcan, then awkwardly wanders back to the living room. He isn’t 100% sure what the protocol is for having cute boys in his flat during a storm, sort of regrets not hanging a mistletoe up sooner, though, maybe right above Harry’s mess of curls. He also regrets not having a fireplace, or those deep, red robes- candles, too.

"You haven't started decorating your tree yet, I see," Harry mentions, making his way back into the room behind Louis.

Louis shrugs, "I don't know how. I'll get a mate over to do it."

"Wait," Harry starts with furrowed eyebrows, "you don't know _how_?"

"Like- I always mess it up and make it look like proper shit. Can never do the lights, or put the topper on," he gestures to his body to refer to his shortness, "or like, the tinsel shit, either."

Harry laughs lightly, "Well, I can decorate it for you," he offers.

"Do I have to pay you extra?" he smirks, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all, you'll be payin' me in Christmas Joy!" Harry is beaming, already heading over the the box marked 'x-mas crap' with this cute little skip in his step.

"Well-" Louis starts unsurely, kicking at the floor, "only if you want."

Harry rolls his eyes. He digs through the box a bit, before pulling out a long string of Christmas lights. "You know what's best about Scotch Pines? They barely shed. Whether they're hot or wet, or cool or dry, never shed. Wonderful things, really," Harry plugs the lights into an outlet near the tree, making sure they all work whilst he speaks. Louis bites his lip, watching him do so, nearly feeling like a guest in his own home.

"That's nice..." he trails off, "do y-"

"Can you come help with these lights, Lou? The tree here's a bit of a wide one."

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says a bit too quickly. He stands on the opposite side of the Christmas tree, glancing through the branches to watch Harry's face as he concentrates on weaving the lights around the backside of the tree, passing them off to Louis, whom takes them easily enough, and wraps them around his side.

"Oh, no, no," Harry giggles, shaking his head, "you wanna push the lights toward the inside of the tree, they're not suppose to be on the outer edges, silly."

Louis blinks, having not been called silly since he was thirteen, "Oh," he mumbles stupidly.

He lets Harry take the lights from him again, wrapping them back around his side. “The good thing about these kinda trees, is that the branches can hold both heavy and light ornaments, thus _also_ meaning you can do a lot to them. Like, with lights, and garland, and even small presents,” Harry smiles softly, handing the lights off to Louis again until he can wrap them around on his own, standing on his tip toes to tuck the end into the top of the tree. "Also pretty good if you got any cats, they can sleep inside of 'em and get cozy by the lights," Harry looks at Louis excitedly, "did'ya know that they can actually feel the warmth from these really well? Like obviously we can too, but it's like a blanket for 'em, kind like how they always sit on the hood of your car after you've driven it. Gets 'em all nice and toasty."

Louis is almost disgusted with himself by how endearing he finds the stranger. _Almost_.

Harry turns back to the box of decorations, bending over to move some of the packaging around, trying to find certain embellishments. However, as he leans forward, his sweater rides up his back, revealing smooth, milky skin, a few little angel kisses spreading down the bumps of his spine that shows at his angle of bending over. He looks so young- young and blossoming and so, so untouchable, though, he very much is.

Then, he is crouching down, better for rummaging through the box to find whatever it is he is looking for; and, as he does so, his sweater slips down just a tiny bit, _but_ , it still remains rucked up on his back, just enough. Abundantly so, that his leggings stretch over his bum, _that_ much more, and slip. And Louis _chokes_ , because right there, peaking out from the leggings, is a little, festive thong, thin strings on full display, red and white candy cane stripes. 

"Do- do you, uh- have a cat?" Louis swallows, trying to distract himself from the teasing fabric.

"I d- yes, ribbon!" Harry interrupts himself happily, standing up with a goofy grin, holding the roll in his hand. It is red and white, and goddamn, _really_? It's just, Louis shouldn't have even been surprised. Of course you wear thongs to prevent panty lines. But Harry is a boy, quite obviously with the small bulge of his crotch that is also quite obvious through the thin fabric. Boys don't typically wear _leggings_ , then again, Louis thinks, boys typically aren't as cute as Harry. 

"And _yes_ , I do have a cat," Harry says, undoing the piece of tape preventing the ribbon from unraveling, "I have an orange, Persian cat. His name is Ed, cute thing, small and fluffy."

Louis coos, tilting his head to the side as he watches Harry. He is now leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into his university hoodie pocket, still beside the tree. 

Harry smiles to himself, "You know," he starts, seemingly in his own little world, "these trees are native to Europe and Asia, but they can grow just 'bout any where," he makes a happy sound, squatting down again to start wrapping the ribbon around the tree, "makes 'em quite popular as a Christmas tree."

"Oh," Louis murmurs, squatting down himself so he can help pass the ribbon around the wide tree, "so my tree isn't special then?"

Harry sends him a small frown, face just a short distance from his own, "Of course it is," he says softly, as if he is actually concerned that Louis doesn't think it is.

Louis sighs dramatically, taking the ribbon from Harry again, "S'pose you're right," he shakes his head, passing it off, "I _do_ have the most hipster deliverer."

" _Heeey_ ," Harry drags out cutely, "don't say anything about hipsters when you're in _that_ sweater."

Louis gasps, wide grin spreading nonetheless at the sweet cheek of Harry Styles.

"Look like a proper uni boy, there," he murmurs shyly, big, cherry lips moving slowly in a pout. He shifts up a bit, and when he passes the ribbon to Louis, their fingers brush against each other.

“Well, I _am_ a proper uni boy.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, giggling, “ _Obviously_.”

Louis’ eyes widen, the thought ' _who is this boy?_ ' running through his head on repeat, small smile covering his face.

“So, hipster boy,” Louis says as he stands up. The bottom limbs of the tree are all wrapped up, and they pass the ribbon higher. He kicks his fuzzy sock covered foot at the hardwood flooring of his flat, “are you just a tree expert or what?”

Harry shrugs, fingers moving over the ribbon to straighten it out in a specific place, no longer needing Louis' help, “At the moment, yes.”

Louis bites at one of his fingernails, kicking himself back from the wall, and making his way to the box of embellishments, “At the moment?” he questions, digging through the box. He finds some random glittery, red, yellow, and blue ornament balls, and pulls them out. They aren’t threaded yet, though, so he sits cross-legged on the floor with them in his hands.

“Yeah, holiday season,” Harry's eyebrows are furrowed, and he stretches up, leaning forward to get the top back of the tree that is blocked by the walls of the corner. Louis bites his lip, eyes darkening, watching the boys sweater slide up his back again, his little bum plump in the tight leggings, perfect and round, and Louis shouldn’t be checking out the arse of a random stranger who delivered his Christmas tree, but, _god_.

“What about when it’s not holiday season?” he brings himself to asks. He tears the plastic holding the little ornaments with his teeth, ripping it open best he can.

Harry shrugs, “S’always holiday season for something.”

“Will you deliver me valentine flowers, then?” Louis smirks, staring intently at the golden string in his fingers, trying to loop it through the ornament. Also intently ignoring the gaze he can feel on himself.

“Possibly some chocolates,” Harry smiles softly.

"Maybe you'll be a better chocolate deliverer than tree deliverer," he teases.

"Hey," Harry says accusingly, "what do you mean? You don't like your tree?"

"Well, it _does_ look pretty average to me." 

Harry's eyes widen dramatically, "Its not _average,_ " he states, clearly offended, and also clearly not catching on to the fact that Louis is teasing, "I picked this tree out myself! It is a Pinus _Sylvestris_ species. It was a local to Southern England _9,000_ years ago until its pollen spread! It has the _cutest_ pine cones! This tree is so, _so_ special!"

Louis bursts into laughter, shaking his head at how offended the boy is. "I'm- I'm _joking_ , Harold."

Harry's glare is cold, and he huffs, turning back to the tree, "Is it okay if I just stuff the rest of this roll in the back? I don’t want to cut it or anything, don't want to put myself in a position for more _ridicule_.”

Louis snorts, nodding his head as a ' _fine with me._ ' His fingers fumble as he ties his first little knot of the string, completing one ornament. He smiles to himself, setting it to the side, and then he feels the slight warmth beside him. He looks up from his hands, where he has started to loop another ornament. Harry is settling himself on his bum beside him, grabbing his own ornament to loop some string through.

Louis scans his eyes over Harry as subtly as possible, stopping at his feet to admire his little ankle socks. They match, _god_ , the thong that Louis now knows is underneath the thin fabric covering Harry's lower half, striped in the same, red and white, matching a candy cane. Just above the ankle sock, though, he notices a couple of letters inked into his ankle, the rest hidden under the ends of his leggings. He doesn’t even think about it, as he reaches over, softly pressing his thumb into Harry’s skin and pushing the black fabric up his leg to see the rest of the small tattoo.

“ _Inevitability_ ,” he murmurs, tilting his head. He glances up to meet Harry’s eyes, “I like it.”

“Thank you,” Harry says softly, smile small.

Louis smiles back, shaking his head again. He moves his fingers from Harry’s skin, and brushes his leggings back down his legs, pressing his thumb into the end of them for no other reason than it felt like the right thing to do. “Harry,” he says in mock seriousness, eyebrows creased earnestly, “would you like a cracker?”

Harry snorts, but nods his head nonetheless.

**(v)**

“So _Harold_ , how old is this invading species that I’ve allowed into my home?” Louis asks. His feet are on his coffee table, head tipped back as he stuffs a handful of crisps into his mouth.

“Not an invading species, _actually_ ,” Harry corrects, looking over his shoulder with an amused smirk. He has a green crown in place of his Santa hat from the cracker he blithely won over from Louis, having won the battle and receiving the cracker as prize whilst Louis acquired the ends of festive wrapper, proceeding with a frown - he has always lost at the wishbone competition, too. The tree is nearly done now, though, strings of different garlands and ribbons, tons of little ornaments, round and not round, covering the outspread branches. “and this little guy," he continues, "is just a baby still,” he says with a pouted smile, “about 5 years old, got his first branch trim last year, second before I brought him to you.”

“You killed a baby tree,” Louis states bluntly.

Harry glares at him, “You paid me too.”

“For all you know, I could have gave you _counterfeit_ , baby tree assassin”

Harry eyes him carefully from where he is putting one last red bulb near the top. He bends over - Louis' gotten use to him doing that, now- and grabs his Santa hat, digging into the white trim to retrieve the money Louis gave him some time ago. “Ten, twenty, forty,” he furrows his eyebrows, “you actually gave me more, Lou.”

Louis’ eyes widen comically, “Oh, _did I?_ ” he says in fake surprise, “dear me.”

He rolls his eyes, stuffing another handful of crisps into his mouth. He did say ' _35 and you'll never see me again,_ ' and, well, that just wouldn't do- though he wasn't actually anticipating Harry's truck not starting, that just happened to be a _very_ fortunate coincidence. 

“Lou,” he frowns, “I can get you change, y'know.”

“Mate, you are _decorating_ the tree you _delivered_ ,” Louis laughs spreadingly, “keep- the money.”

“I can’t-” Harry cuts himself off as he digs through his fucking hat, pulling a five out, “here, take this.”

He makes his way to Louis from the tree, who is still sprawled across the couch and coffee table, shoveling potato crisps into his mouth. He holds the bill out to him, and Louis blinks at it. Proceedingly, he draws another handful of crisps out, and dumps them into Harry’s hand.

“Ew,” Harry _screeches_ , accidentally jerking back and making the crisps fly over the floor. His eyes widen comically,  “I am _so_ s-”

He is cut off by Louis’ blatant laughter, who is now turning onto his side with his eyes shut close, _choking_ out peels of fucking _cackles_. The bag of crisps falls off its perch that was his stomach, and spills over the couch. That makes Louis laugh louder, and he rolls onto his knees on the floor, tears in his eyes, _jesus_.

“You _idiot_ ,” he snickers, “oh my _god_.”

Harry is frozen, still utterly shocked.

“Thanks for ruining my _dinner,_ mate,” Louis snorts, “gonna be out in the streets begging now.”

Harry frowns, asking softly, “That was your dinner?”

Louis looks up at him with an amused expression, “That’s what you're most concerned about? Not the fact that you’ve dumped dried potatoes all over mt flat, but the fact that it was my _dinner_?”

“Well _yeah_ ,” he says incredulously, “that’s an awful dinner, Lou. There is nothing healthy about it, you need your nutr-”

Louis blanks, “Mate,” he starts, “I’m a proper uni boy, ‘member?” he laughs at Harry’s expression, “besides, can’t cook worth shit.”

He kicks at some cracker wrappers that are on his floor. Picking  up one of the crowns that is scrunched up on the ground, he straightens it out a bit, and then he places it on his head. It’s _orange_.

“Do you want me to make you dinner?” Harry asks sympathetically, eyebrows creased in worry.

And well, Louis swallows. “Um,” he starts, “I mean- you don’t ha-”

“I’m making you dinner,” Harry says to himself, setting the five on the coffee table, wiping his hands down his sweater.

“What about the tree?” Louis smirks, watching him with a heartful.

“The tree, Louis,” Harry says, walking into the kitchen, “only needs a topper," he stops in the doorway, turning with a smirk, "and I am _sure_ you can manage that on your own.”

Louis can’t help the shit-eating grin the spreads across his face, biting his lip to stop himself from screaming in glee to himself. He sits on the floor only a few moments longer to try and wrap his head around what the hell this pretty boy is, and to try and keep himself chill enough not to grab the boys perky, little bum, and smash his lips to his.

 

**(vi)**

**  
**When he finally does manage to get up, ignoring the mess of potato crisps around him, he nearly sprints to the kitchen, smile refusing to be tamable over his lips.

Walking in, he sees the curly-haired, not-so-much-a-stranger-anymore boy, rummaging through cabinets in his kitchen. He has a few different utensils sprawled over the counter, random items Louis is sure he has never used. He also finds Harry pulling out a few packages of ramen noodles, some cream cheese, butter, milk, and other weird spices and such has has not a clue how to cook with. So, _alright_.

He takes a seat at the counter, plopping down on a bar stool. With his elbows on the counter top, and his head in his hands, he watches Harry maneuver in his kitchen, humming to himself softly. It's strange, honestly, having someone so gorgeous in his kitchen, and not only physically gorgeous, but, like, the everything _else_ gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that Louis wants his life to always be covered in. The type of gorgeous he wants lying in sweatpants and an old t-shirt on his couch when he gets home from class. The type of gorgeous he wants to have shoving crisps down the front of his shirt. The type of goddamn gorgeous he wants to kiss, and coddle, and like, _love_.

Which is ridiculous- he doesn't _know_ him. _Pfft_.

"Ooh!" Harry mewls, "we can bake cookies afterwards!" Harry turns around, a box of frozen cookie dough between his hands. He is smiling questioningly, biting his lip with his eyes wide.

Louis smiles softly back, "'course we can."

Harry does a little hop, hugging the frozen cookie dough to his chest. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" he sings, setting the cookie dough down and then leaning over the counter, kissing Louis on the cheek happily.

"I should be thanking _you_ ," he says, trying to cover up the squealing that is scratching up his throat, ready to be released in blushes and happy tears and _honestly_ , he is such a teenage drama queen over things like this. He doesn't mind, though. Whether he is 22 or 15.

"Yeah," Harry agrees cheekily, looking over his shoulder, "you should be."

Louis snorts at him, rolling his eyes. "You're ridiculous, my hipster pal, absolutely ridiculous."

Harry is filling a pot with water over the sink, tapping his foot thoughtfully, "So, we're pals then?"

"Well," Louis starts, "I would _hope_ we're pals. I mean, you _are_ making me dinner."

Harry snorts, placing the pan of water on the stove, and turning the heat on, "To be fair," he starts, "sounds like you're describing a bit of a different kind of pal there."

And. Well. Louis blushes, "Well," he starts, teasing as always to cover how flustered he is, "if you wanted this to be a date all you had to do was say so."

Now it's Harry's turn to blush- it's also his turn to giggle- as he breaks the noodle sticks in half and puts them in the pot of water. "For all you know, I could have a boyfriend."

It makes Louis bite his lip- actually, it makes him almost bite his lip completely _off-_ at the thought of someone else getting to worship such a pretty boy. He does not say anything like that. "So, you _do_ like boys then," he waggles his eyebrows. 

Harry _snorts_ , "Was it not obvious?"

Louis puts his hands up in defense, "Hey, I don't assume every boy is gay just because I'm gay," he smirks, wondering if he was just a _bit_ obvious.

Harry snorts, _again_ , and so Louis thinks he wasn't obvious at all.

Harry also stirs the noodles in the water a bit, before measuring out the cream cheese and butter in another bowl. It's silent for the moment. Harry adds some of the random herbs into the mixture of butter and cream cheese, and he also adds a cup of milk. Louis watches contently, smile on his lips.

"For the record," Harry says, turning on another part of the stove and placing the cream mixture on top of it, "I don't have a boyfriend."

 

**(vii)**

 

"Harold, talk trees to me," Louis murmurs. He is still sitting at the counter, except now his arms are crossed, head laying in them as he watches Harry whisk the delicious smelling paste.

"Well," Harry says- Louis can _hear_ his eye roll- "did you know your tree is apart of the Plantae kingdom?"

Louis did not. "I did not," he states, "does my tree happen to be of royal descent?" 

Harry snorts. Louis takes great offense.

"Your tree is also an evergreen coniferous," he states.

Louis nods, biting his lip. Harry is doing a little dance now as he whisks, humming softly to himself once again. Louis wants to feel guilty for starring at his arse, he does, but Harry has to know that if he is going to have a cute bum and wear only leggings to cover said cute bum, people are going to stare.

Harry looks over his shoulder when he gets no response, and snickers when he sees Louis' eyes flicker up to his, eyes wide and cheeks red. 

"You seem _very_ interested in tree suddenly, Lou," Harry smirks to himself, "can't imagine why."

He shakes his goddamn arse.

_Shakes it._

Louis groans loudly, feeling his cheeks heat up an abundant amount more, and he buries his face in his arms.

The groan makes Harry laugh, though a blush is spreading across his own cheeks as well, and he stops whisking to roll his sleeves up. He lets the paste sit on low, whilst he digs out two bowls, oddly already knowing where everything is in Louis' tiny kitchen. He scoops out two bowl fulls of the noodles, that have been sitting for awhile, and then dips a toothpick into the paste. He determines that it is done, and moves it from the stove. He makes sure to turn the stove off, and then he spoons the creamy paste over their noodles, adding just a little bit of salt and pepper.

"Bon appetite," he smiles, watching Louis finally lift his head from his arms.

Louis smiles guiltily, taking the bowl from Harry.

He digs in, promptly finding himself _moaning_  at the taste. "This is fucking fantastic," he murmurs, "like _fuck_ , I can't even make top ramen right, let alone something like _this_."

Harry snorts, sitting across from him at the counter-top. "It's literally the _easiest_ thing to make, Lou."

Louis rolls his eyes, "You're saying that to someone who was eating a bag of crisps for dinner, _mind_ you."

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

**(viii)**

"You just roll the dough into balls, _Louis_ , it's not hard!"

"Last I checked, rolling balls does make things at least a _little_ hard."

"If you're an expert on that, then, you think you'd be quite great at handling balls."

"I'm more of an arse kind of guy, thank you very much."

Harry snorts, " _Oh,_ I could tell alright."

Louis blushes, shaking his head. "Should I apologise, then?" he teases.

A huff of a laugh escapes Harry's nose, and he looks up with a soft smile, "I've been staring, too. Don't worry."

Louis raises an eyebrow, " _Really_?"

"Yeah," he begins to snicker before he can even get the rest out, "I have a good bum, of _course_ I stare at it."

Louis gasps, throwing his ball of cookie dough at Harry's head.

("You got cookie dough in my _hair_ ," he pouts, pretty lips puffing out. Louis resists the urge to press a thumb down on the bottom one. He resists a lot of things, _actually_.

"You're a menace," Louis states, "you _deserved_ it."

"No one deserves this," he whispers.

Louis yanks on the strand of hair he is twirling, making Harry groan as he returns to trying to pick the cookie dough out of it. Whilst doing so, he can't help but notice how soft the boy's curls seem. He thumbs over a split end, smiling to himself, "You've got nice hair," he murmurs softly, which makes Harry blush, "for a boy with cookie dough stuck in it, that is."

Harry elbows him in the stomach.)

They manage to get half a sheet of cookies laid out, the other half in Harry's hair, or residing in their tummies, despite each other's _'i hope you get salmonella poisoning for your bad deeds today.'_

 

**(ix)**

 

The cookies are in the oven, the sweet, _sweet_ smell of chocolate melting filling Louis' flat. It's nearly dark out, just a bit of daylight filtering in through the open curtained window. Harry has three tree toppers laid across the floor, hands on his hip as he raises an eyebrow to Louis. Louis who is laid across his couch, the potato crisps from earlier shoved to the floor. 

"All you have to do, _Lou_ ," Harry starts with a self-evident smile and eyebrow raise, "is pick what topper you want on _your_ tree."

"-that _you_ decorated," Louis says in mock disinterest, pretending to examine his nails.

"-because _you_ apparently don't know how to."

"-because I'm insecure about not being able to reach the top half!" Louis cries in a mocking pseudo, rolling his eyes with a smile after whining.

Harry groans.

Louis sighs.

Harry raises his eyebrows pleadingly.

Louis sighs again, exhaling a, " _Fine._ "

He makes a noise of laziness as he pulls himself up from his laying down position on the couch, sitting up, then standing up. He inspects each topper in mock interest, humming to himself as if scrutinising each one. He kicks at the angel topper, watching it fall, and then shaking his head as if disappointed. "Well, Harold," he starts, "looks like it's up to you."

Harry groans.

 

**(x)**

 

One of Louis' cracker crowns is placed as the tree topper, Harry's way of saying ' _fuck you,_ ' notwithstanding the fact that, _hey_ , Louis actually really likes it. It's shiny paper, red, a bit crumpled. Really, Louis thinks he should be a bit more offended, but he can't deny the flutter of his heart when a cute boy uses sweet, sweet cheek against him. He adores it, really.

"It's dark out, Harry," Louis frowns, "when can we plug the lights in?"

"After the cookies?" Harry suggests. He gets up from the ground, and walks back into Louis' kitchen. Louis follows promptly, thinking off his nose and the lovely, _lovely_ scent of chocolate chip cookies.

"Oven mitts?" Harry asks with furrowed eyebrows, looking into the oven, the scent overwhelming the kitchen.

Louis nods toward the toaster, where a pile of mismatched oven mitts lays. Harry picks out the Christmas ones, _of course_ he does, and pulls out the bottom tray of the oven to look at them more closely. 

He's forward, possibly, when he walks by Harry who is bent over to grab the tray of cookies, pinching his bum as he sits at the counter top with a smirk. He thinks it should be strange that he is already so comfortable with the boy who was a stranger hours ago, it's not, though.

Okay, maybe it is a _little_ strange. Maybe the thought ' _when is he going to leave?_ ' is crossing his mind, not because he wants him to leave, but because he _doesn't_ want him too. It almost feels like Harry belongs in this shitty flat, baking cookies and bickering with him. They're too perfect for each other, Louis doesn't want to end what is probably cosmic fate.

Harry looks over his shoulder with a smirk, shaking his head at Louis. There's this little glint in his eyes, like a pretty, little star. Radiant. Louis wants to choke himself.

The cookies are placed on the countertop, and Harry puts the oven mitts up, first straightening the pile up. Louis notices he does stuff like that a lot, and like, _why_? Harry is so grossly domestic and Louis is so grossly observant- obsessed now, really- and just- _why?_ Louis whines mentally.

"They're probably too hot to eat, but we can put them on a plate and get some milk?" Harry says hopefully, "maybe go plug the tree in?"

Louis smiles softly, "Sounds perfect."

 

**(xi)**

 

Harry is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a glass of skim milk in his hands, and a plate full of gooey, chocolate chip cookies beside him. Louis is also sitting beside him, holding the end of the extension cord, and also the end of the Christmas tree lights, primed to blaze it up. "Ready?" he says, cocking an eyebrow to Harry.

Harry bites his lip, nodding excitedly.

The lights shine in a yellow glow, illuminating the room in a dim radiance that bounces off the walls. It's pretty, the way the lights bound off of the glass ornaments that are hanging on the branches, casting vivid lighting of disparate colours on the off-white walls, fair reds, blues, greens. It's synonymous to warmth and joy and being with people you care about. Someone he apparently cares about = Beautiful, _Harry_ is, with the yellow lights reflecting in his eyes, making them glimmer brighter than anything Louis has ever seen. It's ridiculous, _god_ is it ridiculous, this _boy_. 

"When are you leaving?" Louis whispers in fear of breaking this- this little bridge of something incoherent but understandable, perhaps somewhere- and he bites his lip in all seriousness.

Harry blinks at him, looking away, his soft smile turning into a soft frown, "I'm- um-" he starts, "I can- now, if you want?" he says, shrugging and not meeting Louis' eyes as he says it.

"No-  _no_ ," Louis says quickly- _reassuringly_ in his head-, "I was just- like, I wanna know if you're planning on just leaving- like, soon?"

Harry finally meets Louis' eyes again, "Well Carol is stopping by in the morning to tow the truck back to the farm, and I don't work tomorrow. I was just gonna walk home when the weather let up, y'know?" he laughs softly to himself, "haven't really checked to see if that's happened yet, though, have I?" he picks up a cookie, and bites into it, washing it down with a drink of milk.

"I'm glad you didn't," Louis murmurs honestly.

"Yeah?" Harry says, bumping his knee into Louis' as a tangible sort of incentive.

Louis bites his lip earnestly, "Yeah."

Harry clears his throat, tracing his ankle tattoo with creased eyebrows, slow fingertips, "Y'know," he starts, shyly biting his own lip, "this is usually when the two people kiss."

"Usually?" Louis smirks, feeling his tummy _tumble_.

"Yeah," Harry's smile grows wider, "in the movies."

"Ah," Louis teases, looking away as if to reminisce, "the movie where this _ridiculous_ hipster boy in leggings brings this _ridiculously_ good-looking uni boy a Christmas tree, pretends his truck won't start so he doesn't have to-"

"-my truck really wasn't starting though!"

"- _decides_ to interrupt the ridiculously good looking boy's sentences, and also dump his dinner all over his flat," Harry snorts, "and as a poor apology, hipster, tree-whisperer boy, makes him dinner, cookies, and also decorates his tree. Though the apology was absolute _shit_ , though, uni boy kisses him anyway. Ba humbug. To all a good night. Something about _'Kid, you're gonna shoot your eye out!'_ "

Harry's eyes sparkle, and he smirks, "What a _classic_."

Louis looks at him incredulously, eyebrows raised, "I think you missed the whole point of what I ju-"

Harry grabs Louis' face in his palms and kisses him so, _so_ hard, that when he moves his lips for the first time against Louis', he falls over the plate of cookies and into him, their teeth clacking and his glass of milk spilling over the hardwood flooring. Louis breaks the kiss with an obnoxiously loud cackle, eyes crinkling close as he chokes on laughter at how accident- _prone_  the fucking boy is.

It doesn't last long, though, because Harry pouts and shoves him so he is lying on his back on the floor. He kisses him harder than before, feeling Louis' smile pressing against his own as he lays himself between Louis' spread knees. He giggles, opening his eyes as he takes sluggish, little pecks from Louis. Louis who is laughing in the same, quiet way, but also still so, _so_ happily, entranced in the brightness that Harry's eyes reflect. 

"Were these your intentions the entire time?" Louis teases through an exhale, his grin unbreakable.

"Definitely," Harry giggles, pressing their lips together again and tangling his fingers in his hair, his elbows framing Louis' face.

"Well I've got more intentions than _that_ ," Louis smirks, grabbing the ends of Harry's ridiculously long curls and pulling his head down, their lips meeting again in a wet kiss, giggles falling against each others mouths.

Harry hums against Louis' lips, murmuring, "Like what?"

Louis smile smugly, his hands running from Harry's curls, down his back, and to his bum, finally getting to squeeze it roughly, "'m gonna take you on a date."

"Yeah?" Harry breathes, "what else?"

"Gonna make you my boyfriend," he bites Harry's lip, proceeding by licking over it, and into his mouth, taking long, filthy kisses.

Harry exhales shakily.

"Gonna get us an ' _Our First Christmas_ ' ornament."

Harry grinds his hips down against Louis'- god knows _why_ that made him do it- yanking Louis' head back by his hair and kissing down the front of his throat.

"Also gonna get you more of these," Louis moans, finger slipping under the black fabric of Harry's leggings and yanking on the thin string of his thong.

Harry gasps loudly, body jerking in surprise, and his leg falls into the puddle of milk that is spilled over the floor. He groans, sitting up and frowning, looking between their bodies and at his knee.

"Hopefully that won't be the last mess you make tonight," Louis teases, pushing Harry off of him so he can go fetch a towel.

 

**(xii)**

 

Later, after Louis has given Harry a pair of sweats and t-shirt to sleep in, and also after cleaning up not only the puddle of milk, but the potato crisps, they cuddle on the couch, Christmas movie reruns playing all night long. Somewhere, the cuddling shifts. Louis ends up with one knee bent and pressed to the back of the couch, his other leg hanging off the side, foot flat on the ground. He has a hipster between them, curly-haired head against his chest, wrapped up in a throw blanket. They only make it to the little boy's tongue getting stuck to the pole before Louis' hand takes a mind of its own and begins to trail the waist of Harry's borrowed sweats.

So Louis plays with Harry's cock, nice and slow and teasingly- he would call it casually, even- until he has the boy letting out a soft gasp, coming into Louis' hand. After, when Harry is happily spent, he wanks Louis off with a few pliant kisses pressed to the flushed head of his cock.

And maybe they just met, and maybe it is too soon for anything, and maybe there are more _maybe's_ than not at the moment, and _maybe_ the greatest maybe of all- is that maybe they're going to be a fucking Christmas classic.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> now kids, don't go snipping the ignition wires on your love interests ride, it could end up in a police record rather than being a fucking christmas classic.
> 
> pls comment and kudos. i live for the good stuff like that.
> 
> send me fanfic prompts at my [tumblr](http://wankerville.tumblr.com/)


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